flowers and their many meanings
by Reiizu
Summary: "I've got a few words I have to say to him but I'm not sure how to do it so I think I'm just going to throw this at him and see how he reacts." Aboard a bus, I meet a beautiful stranger who spills his life story. We're both holding flowers.


dug this up from my hard drive and decided to finish it off! it was inspired by a prompt but im not exactly sure which one, so i'm still searching for it...

please leave a review if u enjoyed it ! also crossposted on ao3

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 **flowers and their many meanings**

-x-

I tap my feet impatiently against the ground, pacing around and checking the timetable every few seconds. The bus was supposed to be here ten minutes ago. I can't afford to wait another two hours for the next bus.

There's not much I can do though, so I plop down on the bench and try to busy myself with anything – but there's not much I can daydream about when all I can see is the barren outback lands, with the occasional bird flying overhead.

The bus comes around twenty minutes late. Nonetheless, I am glad and jump up to wave it down.

"Hello," I squeak, bouncing onto the bus.

The bus driver nods in acknowledgement, but doesn't offer an explanation as to why he was late.

"Where are you headed?" He grunts.

"The hospital." I say, and he nods, jerking a thumb towards the back of the bus.

"Take a seat."

I hurriedly choose a seat before he lurches into motion – I pretty much fall into the seat four rows down from the door. Luckily, I don't land on my flowers. I quickly set them on the seat next to me to protect them from possible harm.

I feel a tap on my shoulder and whip my head around so fast I think I strained my neck. "Hello," The man says enthusiastically. "Nice flowers you've got there. I brought flowers today, too." He holds up a bouquet of beautiful yellows.

"Thank you," I say awkwardly. "yours are beautiful."

"But, chrysanthemums, huh. They're gorgeous. What's the occasion, if I may ask?"

"My grandfather just passed away," I answer.

"Oh," The man pauses, as if choosing his words carefully. "Well, I'm sorry about your loss."

"It's fine," I say. "We didn't really have a normal grandfather-and-grandson relationship. He eloped before my mum was born." I elaborate.

"Eloped? Well, that's somewhat romantic, isn't it? Not about the part where he left your mum, though."

"Well, she never blamed him, that's all I can say. After all, she named me after him – a father that was absent for the majority of her life. I can't make sense of it. What's your occasion?" I gesture towards his large array of zinnias.

"I'm going to see… a friend," The man says, hesitating momentarily.

"A friend," I repeat slowly, watching him fixate on something out the window.

"Yes, well. I've got a few words I have to say to him but I'm not sure how to do it so I think I'm just going to throw this at him and see how he reacts," He laughs, his nose scrunching at the bridge.

"That's an interesting technique."

"Actually, that's what he did when we first met," The man says. "He was supposed to be delivering them since he was a florist, you see. But the moment he saw me he shoved it in my face and ran away. It hurt a lot, you know."

I watch the way his brown eyes crinkle at the corners at the memory. My eyes catch on the mole under his eye – a beauty mark on his serene and elegant face.

"Why'd he do that? Did he ever apologise?"

"Oh yes, he did. When I saw him next I was going to punch him into the next century, but. He was nice and gave me a bunch of white tulips in apology and I could tell he was really embarrassed, so what could I do but forgive him? At least the tulips smelt nice.

"From then on I kept bumping into him. Like I'd dart into the grocery store for two seconds to get bread, and he'd be in the same aisle getting the same bread. It was weird, like the universe kept pushing us together or something. And he always had a flower. Always. Which he'd give to me.

"It wasn't until what, three months later? That we actually introduced ourselves, told each other our names."

"Three months," I echo.

"Yeah. It took us three months of run-ins, flowers and awkward greetings for either of us to say anything. It seems to silly when I think about it."

"And what made you actually talk to each other in the end?" I ask.

"Well, he dropped a bunch of flowers, for one. And then they started flying away," The man giggles at the memory. "After all the flowers he'd given me it just seemed mean to let them fly away. So I helped him. And then he asked for my number before even introducing himself! Like I was going to give my number to a stranger."

The man says a name then; in a low voice, almost a whisper; his eyes soft and expression full of affection: "Sawamura Daichi."

"So I tell him my name – this is after we finally gather up all the flowers – and he drops them again trying to reach for his notepad to get my number. It was so funny. I think he got in trouble that day."

At this point the man seems to be talking himself. I'm not sure if he even knows, or remembers that I'm there.

"It took him a week to call me," The man continues. "I was waiting for the first few days but then I thought he wasn't going to call. And I was like, what the fuck. Why'd you ask for my number if you weren't going to call? It was the stupidest thing and I was so irrationally angry. And when he finally called... well, I think I forgot everything and just stayed on the phone for two hours.

"We got to know each other really well and now that we know each other, we see each other even more. Like I'll be walking in the middle of the day in the busiest strip in town, and out of nowhere I'll see his head bobbing amongst the crowd and I'll run up to him and we'll talk until the sun sets and I'm supposed to go home. I could pick him out, even amongst a thick crowd."

The man stops, eyes cast into the distance, deep in thought.

"That's crazy," I say, just for the sake of speaking, hoping to spur him on.

"Anyway." The man says, eyes fixating on me once more, as if remembering he were on the bus.

"I don't know when, but he started giving me a flower a day. Not always in person, but I'd always wake up to a flower on my doorstep or in my mail slot. So… I thought I'd give him flowers in exchange. Although I got a big bunch to make up the difference as best I could. It's not shabby, is it? I want it to look good."

I shake my head, "It looks fantastic. I'm sure he'll love it."

"Ooh, thank you! I certainly hope so. I hope he'll forgive me, too."

"What for? Did you do something bad?" I ask, tilting my head questioningly.

"Well… you can say that. I mean, he said it was nothing; that he wasn't mad at all. But how couldn't he be? Yes, it was terrible of me."

A thick silence fills the air. I look down at my hands, fiddling uncomfortably. He's made me curious now. The suspense is killing me. I notice the bus driver shooting me a strange look, but as soon as we make eye contact he looks away and focuses back onto the road.

It takes him about five minutes to regather his thoughts and finally spill his story.

"We fell in love," He says, so quietly that I nearly miss it.

I think back to the way he spoke about this 'Daichi', and really, it wasn't hard to tell.

He chews his lip, studying my expression carefully, seeing how I'd react.

"I don't mind, if that's what you're wondering," I say simply, and he nods.

"Well, by then we'd known each other for around – three years I think? And we finally realised it. Well, it took me a lot longer, I suppose, because he told me he'd loved me ever since he started giving me flowers. And when I think about it, he gave me flowers on the very first day, before we even knew each other. So it was a long time, and I apologised because I kept him waiting."

"Is that what you're sorry about?" I ask.

"No," He answers. "No… it's much more than that. I moved out with him, you see. I didn't tell my parents that we were romantically involved, so they thought he was just the local florist boy to me. We were together for just five short months. But they were the most incredible, satisfying five months. I was about twenty-four when they happened. I'd been alive for twenty-four years, but he showed me colours I'd never even seen before.

"Then, in the middle of the night one day, I get a call from my parents. They tell me to go home because it's urgent. I don't even pack anything, thinking that I'd be home soon, y'know? I catch the next train home and I don't see him again for like. More than a decade. Turns out my parents had arranged a marriage for me without my knowledge."

"Oh," I breathe, staring at him with a shocked expression.

"Yup," He laughs bitterly. "And me, being the obedient boy I was, couldn't find the right time to tell them I was already in love with this amazing man that gave me everything I needed and more. We were together for five short months, and three years if you counted the years that we knew each other but weren't dating. I thought he'd forget me, or move on. Well that's what I wanted to think, anyway, because it was hurting me every day when I woke up next to this- stranger. Don't get me wrong, Mayumi-san was a beautiful lady.

"She was gracious and pretty much everything a typical man would want in a wife. But not once, in the fourteen years that I was with her, did I see a new colour. I kept wanting to see something new every day, but nothing changed. And then one day, I remember it's the middle of January and it's cold as heck – I open the mailbox and there's a single flower. It's one like this – zinnia.

"Fourteen years and three months I think I was waiting for him to come, because when he did I don't think I even hesitated to go with him. I left behind everything; all my money, my clothes. I didn't say goodbye to Mayumi-san in person, but I left her a letter. I was a shitty husband. Not once did I give her the love she deserved.

"And Daichi didn't blame me for anything. He didn't even ask me to go with him; it was my own selfish decision to continue loving him. I ended up hurting everyone. I cut all contact with everyone I knew and spent the rest of my days with Daichi, which again, was selfish of me. It just… felt like I was alive again. Waking up every morning and his face was right next to mine, his warmth was all around me. And I just thought about how lucky I was, I didn't think about how much hurt I caused to everyone.

"When my parents died, I snuck back home to say my goodbyes. Then I found out that Mayumi-san had given birth. She found out she was pregnant right after I left. And my child – which I'd never even met – had given birth to a child of her own. Well, I felt terrible, because I pretty much robbed the lives of everyone I loved because I wanted to be with the one that I loved.

"Um- are you okay? Here," I rummage around in my bag and bring out a packet of tissues, offering it to him.

"Thanks," He laughs despite his tears, and wipe his eyes furiously. "I just feel like I should've apologised to Mayumi-san, or paid her and my child a visit. Or supported her, at least, because it must've been tough for her. But I was too late, and I'll carry this regret forever.

"Well, I'll be going to apologise to Daichi today. And I'll see him, for the first time in forever," The man straightens his shirt and sweeps a hand through his hair. For a split second, I swear he's glowing. Maybe it's because he just looks so genuinely happy and excited.

"You were in a difficult position," I say. "And although your decisions may have hurt some people, I don't think anyone would've won if you'd stayed with Mayumi-san unhappily."

The man makes a noise at the back of his throat and manages a smile then. "Thank you. It gives me some peace of mind, at least. Coming from you, that is."

The conversation ceases, and I find sleep tugging at my lids.

When I wake, the man is gone. The bus driver is shaking me awake. "Hey. This is your stop."

"Oh," I groan, craning my stiff neck. "Thank you." I quickly grab the flowers and my bag. As I'm stepping off, I hear him say:

"Who were you-"

I turn back to look at him questioningly, but then he clamps his mouth shut. "No, never mind. I've got to be on my way."

I thank him again and, with my bunch of flowers held tightly in my hand, locate the hospital room where my family and just a handful of relatives have gathered.

"Kou-chan, there you are!" My mum rushes towards me, a tear-streak running down her face. She hugs me tightly, and I hold the flowers out of the way just in time.

"Sorry, the bus took a while," I mumble, giving her a quick squeeze.

"Well, you're here at least. Come, they're about to take him away." She ushers me to the bed, where an aged man lay.

My grandfather. I'd never seen him before.

His silver hair glistens in the hospital light, his eyes closed and peaceful. He has a small smile on his face, just a tad bit cheeky.

"Koushi, my dear," I hear, and turn to face my grandmother.

"Hello, grandmother. I'm sorry," I say, kissing her cheeks and tucking a strand of wispy grey hair behind her ears. "I got him flowers."

"They're gorgeous," She smiles. "He did love flowers." She glances at her husband sadly. "Although not once did he give them to me. He had a room full of flowers that he never let me into. I suppose I'll tell them to put some of them with him."

I turn to place the bouquet of flowers beside my grandfather, and notice that a strand of hair has run onto his eye. So I brush it out of the way gently, fingers skimming over the mole under his eye.


End file.
